


Like A Traffic Light

by EscapistAz



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Military Kink, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, in which Sherlock has a military kink but the author totally doesn't, nope not at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:47:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22625044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EscapistAz/pseuds/EscapistAz
Summary: All but one pair of John's trousers have gone missing.Who could possibly be the culprit?
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 69





	Like A Traffic Light

It was late one Tuesday morning when John was digging through his dresser while he was supposed to be leaving for work. It had been happening the past several days that, whenever he'd gone to look in his drawers, more and more pairs of his trousers were missing. He checked his closet, but came up empty there as well. A thought popped into his head and he sighed to himself before starting to dig down through the pile of boxes in the back of his closet. When he reached the box at the bottom of the stack, he lifted the lid and peered inside at its contents.

His uniform trousers were still folded neatly where he'd put them when he moved into the flat at Baker Street. He frowned slightly, not quite relishing the idea of going to work in his old uniform trousers. He knew they still fit; that wasn't the issue. He didn't think he'd very much appreciate the strange looks he'd be sure to get all day. Fortunately, he spent a good portion of his day behind a desk, so the lower half of his body would not be visible.

Fighting an urge to roll his eyes, John pulled his trousers out of the box and replaced the lid. He straightened up and moved to put his trousers on. He had the distinct feeling he was being watched as he slid them up over his hips. He turned around to find Sherlock looking at him.

“Yes, Sherlock,” John began. “I'm wearing my uniform trousers to work. Every other pair I own seems to have vanished and I'm already late.”

“I haven't said a word,” Sherlock replied. “Although I was mildly curious as to why you were rummaging through the back of your closet.” He looked down and his eyes lingered a few seconds too long on John's fingers as he fastened the trouser button. He turned and left John's room to return to whatever he'd been doing.

John turned and eyed himself in the mirror. His camouflage uniform trousers looked moderately ridiculous with the blue T-shirt he'd worn to bed the previous night. He paused and tried to decide which of his “work” shirts would look least out of place with the mostly-beige palette of colours that made up the pattern on his trousers. Stepping back into the closet, John chose one of the shirts and took it off of the hanger. He slipped the T-shirt over his head and dropped it into the laundry basket. Once he was fully dressed, he hurried out to the living room where Sherlock was seated at the table eating breakfast for once, and reading the newspaper.

“I should be home around five,” said John, leaning down to kiss Sherlock on the cheek and simultaneously sneaking a piece of toast off of his plate.

He left the flat without another word, and managed to keep from cringing when Mrs. Hudson gave him a strange look for a second as he passed her on his way out. He could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she pondered what could have possessed John to go out in his uniform trousers. She didn't say anything, however, because she'd realised, quite some time ago, that there were things she was better off not asking about.

Without bothering to zip his jacket, John slipped his keys into his pocket and started off down the sidewalk.

Back in the flat, Sherlock had gotten up from the table and watched as John walked away. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards in amusement as he saw a woman turn and stare at John for a few seconds after she'd passed him on the sidewalk. Sherlock let the curtain fall back into place with a chuckle.

As John kept walking, he could practically feel the eyes of the woman he'd just walked past on his back. Thankfully, most of the other people he passed didn't give him a second glance. The further he got from Baker Street, the more he began to think. He knew he hadn't been misplacing his trousers, and he couldn't fathom why Mrs. Hudson would take them. The only remaining culprit was Sherlock. John rolled his eyes. He should have known. Regardless of the fact that he'd figured out where his trousers had been disappearing to, he was still at a loss for an explanation. He couldn't think of any reason why Sherlock would want to steal his trousers. He didn't get the chance to ponder it further because he'd reached the clinic where he'd gotten a job after his working in the office with Sarah hadn't turned out so well.

John strode through the waiting room, greeting the receptionist but not stopping to talk to her.

“Doctor Watson!” she called, motioning for him to come talk to her.

_ Shit _ , John thought.  _ Leave it to Marjorie to be the first person to say something about this... _ He turned and walked back to the desk. She looked him up and down quickly, but, surprisingly, didn't mention his attire. Instead, she handed him a stack of folders.

“These are your appointments for today,” Marjorie said, just as the phone on her desk began to ring. She picked up the receiver.

“Thank you,” John mouthed. She nodded to him, and he turned to walk down the corridor to his office. He placed the stack of folders on his desk and hung his jacket on the back of the door before sitting down in the chair behind his desk, immediately feeling a bit better about the situation. He hoped it would be a quiet day.

Thankfully, nothing monumental had happened the rest of the day. A small boy who'd come in with his mother had asked John if he was in the Army, because he was wearing “Army trousers.” John simply replied that he used to be, and declined to discuss it further. Aside from the boy, no one else had made a comment about John's clothes. A few had looked him up and down quickly, as Marjorie had, but none of them said anything.

John's last two appointments, a woman and her husband, hadn't shown up, so he decided to head home early after checking to see if anything else needed to be done.

As John made his way through the foyer, it occurred to him that the house was devoid of the little clangs and explosions that were commonplace when Sherlock was on a case. He headed upstairs, stuffing his keys back into his pocket as he went. He opened the door to the living room and stopped dead in his tracks.

Sherlock was seated on the sofa; his trousers were unzipped and he was stroking himself with his right hand. He was wearing John's dog tags, and John could see the metal discs clutched in his left hand. Sherlock's eyes were closed, and his mouth half open; clearly lost in whatever fantasy was going on in his mind.

John simply stayed rooted to the spot for a few seconds, watching as Sherlock's hand slid up and down his cock. John shifted slightly where he stood, causing the floorboards to creak under his foot. Sherlock's eyes shot open and he looked over at John, startled.

“John, I--” Sherlock began. John put a finger to his lips and swiftly crossed the room and dropped to his knees between Sherlock's legs. He swatted Sherlock's hand away and replaced it with his own, looking up at Sherlock for permission to take over. Sherlock nodded, and let his right hand fall to the couch at his side. He kept John's dog tags in his left hand.

The pieces were starting to fall together in his mind, but he decided to wait til Sherlock was a bit less... distracted before asking about it. He moved his hand to the tip of Sherlock's cock, spreading the fluid that gathered there to ease the friction. Sherlock sighed and John looked up to find that he'd closed his eyes again. He couldn't be sure how long Sherlock had been touching himself before he'd gotten home. He placed his left hand on Sherlock's thigh as his right hand gradually settled into a rhythm. He noticed that Sherlock was already pretty far gone, as his fingers tightened around the dog tags.

Sherlock opened his eyes to look down at John and bit his lip as his right hand scrabbled for purchase against the couch. The pace at which John was stroking him was maddeningly slow. A soft moan escaped him as he shifted his hips forward, hoping John would get the hint. However, John kept his hand moving at the same speed. Sherlock could feel the pressure building up inside him, and he snapped his hips, thrusting against John's hand as he sought more friction. He bit back another moan as he drew closer to the edge. Even in his current state of mind, he knew John was doing this on purpose. He came with a gasp, riding out the feeling as John's hand finally sped up.

As his breathing returned to normal, Sherlock looked down at John. John sat back on his heels and pondered what he was going to say to Sherlock, even though he had a feeling it still wasn't the best time to be having the sort of conversation he had in mind. Sherlock didn't meet his eyes as he got up from the floor. Sherlock lifted John's dog tags up over his head and held them out to him.

John's fingers closed around the chain and he tucked it into his pocket before turning to walk over to the bathroom. He closed the door behind him, but didn't lock it. His dog tags clattered to the floor as he took off his clothes. He took a towel from the linen closet and placed it on the counter. The wheels in his head began to move as he turned the water on and stepped under the spray. As the water streamed down his back, John tried to blot the image of Sherlock touching himself while wearing his dog tags from his mind. However, it proved to be easier said than done. From the series of events that transpired, John was beginning to think things like his dog tags and his uniform trousers did something for Sherlock. He deduced that all of his other pairs of trousers had gone missing because Sherlock had wanted to see him in his uniform trousers.

_ Asking probably never even occurred to him, of course,  _ John thought to himself. Then he let his mind wander a bit. He pondered the very real (and likely) possibility that Sherlock had been thinking about him while touching himself. He also wondered whether that had been the first time, or if Sherlock had “borrowed” his dog tags before. John decided he liked the idea of being the subject of Sherlock's fantasies. Without even really thinking about it, he reached down and began stroking himself with one hand, bracing the other hand against the tiled wall, and an image popped into his head. In his mind, he saw Sherlock as he'd seen him on the couch; eyes shut, mouth open, off in a world of his own creation. John slid his thumb over the tip of his cock as his other hand slid down the wall a little bit. He spilled himself into his hand with a sigh, shutting his eyes as his fluids spiralled away down the drain. He wondered momentarily how long he'd been in the shower before deciding it didn't really matter.

John turned off the shower and stepped out onto the mat. He picked the towel up off of the counter and dried himself off before wrapping it around his waist. After gathering his things, he switched off the light and headed back to his bedroom. The flat was strangely quiet and John realised that Sherlock must have left to go somewhere while he was in the shower. As he closed the door to his bedroom, John began to let his mind wander again, and soon got an idea. He discovered that all of his missing pairs of trousers had been returned to his dresser drawers. He decided that, instead of simply asking Sherlock about his suspicions, he would conduct a little experiment.

Rather than putting his pajamas on as he normally would when he was expecting to be in for the night, John changed back into his uniform trousers. He could almost guarantee that Sherlock wouldn't say anything about it, so he would have to simply observe. He slipped a t-shirt on and padded into the living room. After checking to make sure it was plugged in, John flipped open his laptop and turned it on. There was still quite a bit he had to say about their last case, so he settled down at the table and continued typing where he'd left off last.

John was nearly finished with his blog entry by the time Sherlock reappeared. He didn't look over at John as soon as he walked in, but busied himself with hanging up his coat.

“And I  _ told _ Lestrade that the estranged wide couldn't possibly have been the culprit because she was in Costa Rica with her lover at the time. Of course he didn't--” Sherlock said as he turned around, letting his sentence trail off at the end when he noticed that John was still in his uniform trousers. His eyes narrowed fractionally, and John could almost hear him thinking 'I put all the others back; what are you doing?' before shaking his head slightly and picking up where he'd left off. John, of course, had had no idea that the woman had a lover, but it definitely complicated things. He sighed to himself and deleted two whole paragraphs from what he had been typing. After the two paragraphs were gone, he tried to keep up with Sherlock, typing up what he was saying.

“Sorry, could you repeat that last but?” John asked. Sherlock complied, repeating the last part of what he'd said, but still avoided making eye contact with John. John wondered what the problem was. It was unlike Sherlock to be embarrassed, especially about something like getting caught masturbating by his flatmate/boyfriend. John surmised it might have something to do with the dog tags combined with John's having put two and two together about his missing trousers. He reached down with his right hand and toyed absentmindedly with the buttons on one of the cargo pockets on his trousers as he debated adding a separate paragraph about his own thoughts on the case, Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Sherlock's eyes were fixed on his hand and smirked slightly. He decided to leave the last paragraph until tomorrow. Sherlock stopped focusing on John's hands as he shut his laptop down and got up from the table. “I'm going up to bed,” said John. He pecked Sherlock on the lips and walked past him and upstairs to his bedroom. As John changed into his pajamas he laid his uniform trousers across the foot of his bed. An idea began to formulate in his head and he moved his trousers to the back of his chair. Then, he turned down the covers and climbed into bed. John started to drop off to sleep, and the idea that had popped into his head began to move from a simple vague concept into a concrete plan as the details began to flesh themselves out.

John woke up the next morning alone in his bed. He wasn't alarmed, however, because he knew that sometimes, when Sherlock was on a case, he'd go several days without eating or sleeping. He did some quick math in his head. The previous day had been Tuesday, so that meant, according to John's best estimate, the last time Sherlock had slept was Sunday night. John didn't really know how tired Sherlock might be when he got home, but if things went his way, Sherlock would certainly be tired by the time John was finished with him. He glanced over at the clock on his bedside table. It was barely eight o'clock. If memory served him correctly, Sherlock had quite a bit of follow-up for the case to do, and would be gone at least until the evening. This left John with the better part of the entire day to kill, but it didn't bother him very much, because if everything went according to plan, it would be worth the wait. And with that thought, John shoved back the covers and got out of bed.

As he had predicted, John was completely alone in the flat. He went into the kitchen and found a slip of paper stuck to the fridge. It was a note from Mrs. Hudson saying that she and Mrs. Turner from next door had gone out, and not to expect her back until late that night. That was just as well, because there were some things he's rather not have to worry about Mrs. Hudson walking in on.

The rest of the day passed relatively slowly, but John found ways to occupy himself. He was sitting in his chair reading the newspaper when Sherlock got home.

Sherlock walked into the flat, closing the door behind him. He turned to look at John and froze. John got up from the chair and smirked slightly as Sherlock looked him up and down. He was wearing his full camouflage uniform, including his boots and dog tags. He'd been a bit iffy about the boots originally, but decided to go ahead and put them on in the end. 

Without a word, Sherlock crossed the room, closing the distance between himself and John. He cupped his hands around John's face, and leaned down to kiss him gently on the lips. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and closed his eyes as he felt Sherlock's hands move from his face down the sides of his neck to his chest. Sherlock pressed himself up against John as his lips parted against his own. When Sherlock slipped a leg between John's, John stepped back, breaking the contact between their mouths. Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows, but said nothing and simply followed as John grabbed his wrist and tugged him toward his bedroom.

As soon as the door was closed, behind them, Sherlock, twined his arms around John, kissing him. John traced the shape of Sherlock's lower lip with his tongue before breaking the kiss again.

“Strip,” John whispered into Sherlock's ear. Sherlock drew back and studied him for a few seconds before reaching up to start unbuttoning his shirt. As Sherlock removed his clothes, John took the opportunity to alternate between watching and unlacing and removing his boots. Sherlock put his clothes in a heap on the chair and turned back around. One corner of his mouth curled upwards into a slight smirk, and he slowly got to his knees before looking up John. He sat back on his heels and reached up to undo John's trousers.

In place of a zipper, John's uniform trousers had nothing buttons. After fumbling for a few seconds, Sherlock got the buttons open and separated the two halves of the fabric. He pushed John's trousers, along with his pants, down just slightly past his hips. Once the fabric was down and out of the way, he reached up to wrap one hand around John's shaft and stroked him a few times. Without breaking the eye contact between them, Sherlock ran his tongue up the underside of John's cock before taking the tip into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the sides and slowly leaned forward to take more into his mouth, still looking at John. His hand and mouth soon began to move at the same pace. John sighed softly and reached up with one hand to run his fingers though Sherlock's hair. Sherlock withdrew slightly to take a breath, and paused to suck on the tip for a few seconds. John's fingers tightened in Sherlock's hair as he watched more of his shaft disappear into Sherlock's mouth once more. Sherlock could feel John straining to keep control of his hips and looked up at him again. Making a split-second decision, Sherlock took John's other hand from where it had been down at his side and placed it on the back of his head.

John paused for a moment, confused, until he realised Sherlock's intent. Then he carefully moved his hips forward, sliding his cock down into Sherlock's throat. He withdrew slowly, repeating the process as Sherlock placed his left hand on his hip and reached down between his legs to stroke himself with his right hand. John drew back and then pressed forward again, thrusting into Sherlock's throat with carefully controlled rolls of his hips. Then John's fingers tightened in Sherlock's hair again as he opened his mouth wider and pushed against John's hip with his left hand, taking him even further into his throat.

“Sherlock,” John whispered.

“Mhm?” Sherlock replied, not even taking his mouth off of John. John gasped, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment as he felt Sherlock's throat contract around his shaft. He gently pulled Sherlock backwards off of him with one hand. He took a few seconds to collect himself as Sherlock sat back on his heels and wiped his mouth with the back of one hand.

“Up on the bed,” said John, his voice noticeably steadier. Sherlock got to his feet and sprawled himself out on John's bed. “Arms up,” John continued, moving to stand beside the bed. Sherlock complied, adjusting himself slightly at the same time. John took Sherlock's scarf from where he'd draped it over the headboard and placed Sherlock's wrists one on top of the other above his head. Then he tied them together with the scarf before securing them to the center of the headboard. “Look at me,” said John. Sherlock turned his head. “If at  _ any _ point you want me to untie you, say... 'yellow,' and I will. If at any point you want to stop everything completely, say... 'red,' and I will,” John said, using the first word that popped into his head. Sherlock snorted.

“What, like a traffic light?” he asked. John frowned slightly.

“Do you understand me?” he asked firmly.

“Yes, sir,” Sherlock replied, grinning impishly. John shook his head, chuckling slightly.

“You're impossible,” he muttered, climbing up onto the bed to straddle Sherlock's hips, before leaning forward to place one hand on either side of Sherlock's chest. He pressed a kiss to Sherlock's jaw before trailing his lips down the side of his neck to the hollow of his throat. Sherlock sighed softly and raised his chin, exposing his neck and granting John easier access. At the same time, he tilted his hips upwards, rubbing himself against John. The fabric of John's trousers was coarse against his skin and he adjusted the angle of his motions slightly until he rolled his hips and their cocks slid past each other. Before Sherlock could find a rhythm, John climbed off of him. “You're not getting off that easy,” John said, smirking. He padded over to his bedside table and began rummaging around in the drawer. He located the item he was looking for and shoved the drawer shut.

John's decision to keep a bottle of lube in his bedside table was recent, and so far as he could tell, it was turning out to be a wise choice. John got back onto the bed and Sherlock spread his legs to accommodate his form. He knelt between Sherlock's thighs and briefly turned his attention to the bottle in his hand. He popped the cap open and upended the bottle, coating two of his fingers with a generous amount of its contents before closing the bottle and placing it on his bedside table. He reached down between Sherlock's legs and carefully pressed his middle finger into him before pausing to give him time to adjust. After a few seconds, John withdrew and re-inserted his finger, repeating the process a few times. Once Sherlock had acclimated to the intrusion, John slowly added his index finger. He moved his fingers in tandem in and out of Sherlock's body, slowly at first, but speeding up a little after a bit. Sherlock gasped as John's fingers brushed up against a certain spot inside him. John smirked and slid his fingers over that spot again. Sherlock moaned and spread his legs further. John placed his left hand on Sherlock's hip as his fingertips gradually settled into a rhythm. Sherlock shut his eyes and let his mouth fall open as he ground his hips down against John's hand.

“Look at me,” said John, pressing his fingers a little harder against Sherlock's prostate. Sherlock whimpered and opened his eyes to look down at John, straining a little against the scarf around his wrists. “Beautiful,” John whispered, letting his fingers settle back into their previous rhythm.

After a few more minutes, John felt Sherlock's thighs tense and shake slightly. He rolled his hips, making a sound in his throat and trying to draw John's attention to his cock. It felt a bit like his nerves were on fire, and he was teetering on the edge. He was close, but John's fingers alone weren't enough; and John knew it. Sherlock writhed a little, biting back a moan.

“John...” he whispered. “John, yellow.” John carefully withdrew his fingers and leaned forward to untie Sherlock's wrists, before wadding up the scarf and tossing it onto his chair. He put his lips to Sherlock's throat.

“Are you okay?” he asked. Sherlock took a few deep breaths and massaged his wrists for a few seconds. And then leaned up on his elbows to kiss John on the lips. It was hard for him to keep from grinding his hips up against John's, because he was still dangerously close to the edge, but he managed.

“I'm fine,” Sherlock replied. “Just... Too much and not enough, all at the same time.” John nodded.

“If you don't--” he began, before Sherlock put a finger to his lips, cutting off the rest of his sentence.

“If I remember correctly, the code I used was to indicate that I wanted you to untie me, not that I wanted to end this encounter in its entirety.”

“But--”

“Don't you dare. You'd better fuck me, John Watson, or... or I'll forward that photo of you in those lacy black pants to everyone on your contact list on your mobile,” Sherlock said, grinning as the ultimatum popped into his head. John's eyes widened momentarily, but then he realised something.

_ Two can play that game,  _ he thought to himself. “I'll be the one giving the orders, Corporal,” said John, a smirk spreading across his lips.

“My apologies, sir,” Sherlock said, feigning innocence. “I suppose you'll have to teach me a lesson.”

John said nothing, but slid his hands up Sherlock's bare sides and leaned forward to kiss him again. Then he reached over to pick up the bottle from his bedside table. He put his lips to Sherlock's left hip before pausing to run his tongue up the underside of his shaft. The motion caused a slight shudder to run through Sherlock's body, and John noticed, as the fingers of Sherlock's left hand curled into a fist. He opened the bottle again and coated his shaft with a thick layer of the slippery liquid, then closed the bottle before dropping it to the bed. John stroked himself a few times for good measure before leaning down to place one hand on the bed next to Sherlock's chest. Balancing on his knees and one hand, John used his other hand to line himself up and shifted his hips forward just enough so the tip of his cock entered Sherlock. He sighed and paused to allow Sherlock to adjust. After a few moments, Sherlock nodded, giving John the go-ahead to move. John pressed his hips further forward, groaning as he buried himself to the hilt. He placed his other hand on the other side of Sherlock's chest and withdrew almost completely before moving forward again.

As John's hips found a rhythm, Sherlock wrapped his legs around his waist, drawing him in closer. John's dog tags clanked against each other with the motion of his hips, and Sherlock reached up to close one hand around them. John leaned down to kiss Sherlock, and at the same time, slightly altered the angle of his thrusts. Sherlock gasped against John's lips as the tip of his shaft found a certain spot inside him. He unwrapped his legs from John's waist and slid his hands up under his shirt and jacket. John further shifted the angle of his hips, so that his cock brushed up against Sherlock's prostate with each thrust. Sherlock clutched at John, and his nails left angry little crescent-shaped marks in his skin. John growled and sank his teeth into Sherlock's neck; hard enough to leave a mark, but not hard enough to break the skin.

“John!” Sherlock said. It was almost a whine. John could feel Sherlock's body tensing up again, and started moving a little faster. At the same time, he reached down between their bodies with one hand to stroke Sherlock's cock.

Sherlock came, hard, moaning as he arched back, his toes curling against the sheets. The sound tapered off into a sigh and he slumped back down onto the bed, breathing heavily through parted lips. John had been close before, but the feeling of Sherlock's muscles contracting around him when he came pushed him right to the edge. He looked down at the man who lay panting beneath him, and leaned down to put his lips to his throat. He started moving again, stimulating Sherlock a bit too much, causing him to shift uncomfortably. He reached up to cup one hand around Sherlock's face, tracing his bottom lip with his thumb.

John kept moving until his thrusts became disjointed and uneven. He pushed as far forward as possible, drawing another moan from Sherlock, and let himself go with a groan as a shudder ran through his entire body. The afterglow effect faded and John pulled out of Sherlock, kissing him sloppily on the lips. John sat back on his heels to allow Sherlock to get out from underneath him. Sherlock got up from the bed and retrieved his pants from the chair before heading into the bathroom for a minute to clean up. When he returned, John had stripped to the waist, laying his shirt and jacket across the back of his chair. John climbed into bed and scooted over to make room for Sherlock beside him. He shifted onto his back and hoped Sherlock would get into bed and spend the night with him.

Sherlock seemed to contemplate it for a moment before getting into bed as well, sidling up next to John and leaning his head on his shoulder. He soon dropped off to sleep, and John reached down to pull the covers up over both of them before switching off the light and quickly falling asleep himself.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't go to this fandom anymore, but I thought most of the writing I did for it should at least see the light of day. 
> 
> Written as a gift for eggroll-is-eggroll <3


End file.
